Ils m'appellent rue
by SuperstitiousSeaturtles
Summary: A bit of a different take on France being the country of love. Human AU with a fem france (obviously that means I used human names). I'm rating it T simply because of the subject. Bite me, but I wouldn't want my little sister to read it. It's kind of a Fruk, but nothing really happens, so don't get your hopes up.


She sighed, looking at her face in the mirror. She looked so tired. The bags under her eyes made her look almost ghostly. Who knew love could cause this?

She laughed drily at her own choice of words. It was really just so very depressing. Giving and receiving love without ever _experiencing_ it, without being actually _loved_. It made her feel deprived. At this point she was like a robot. Every movement was mechanical. She sighed again and put the dress on.

She walked into another car. It reeked, but she was used to it by now. She should be happy… Well, God knows _that's_ not true. But she should at least _appear_ happy. Her income depended to that. She knew it perfectly well. She still couldn't bring herself to force a smile.

A lot of older women told her there was no way out after you've been doing this long enough, but she didn't believe them. Nothing was impossible. It wasn't her heart that was for rent, just her body, and she liked to dream about meeting a good man and actually falling in love. It never really happened to her before, but she simply couldn't allow herself the luxury. But one of these days she would - she would leave the streets, the corners and bedrooms, and she would find someone who wouldn't want to pay her. It might've seemed impossible at the moment, but that was not important. She wouldn't have been be able to wake up in the mornings if she didn't believe that.

She saw a green Citroën parked on the street corner. After quickly fixing her hair, she made her way to the vehicle, mechanically swinging her hips, and tapped on the window. The driver opened it. "Hello, cher. Are you looking for some company on this cold, lonely night?"

"I guess… Yes, I guess I am. Would you… like to get in?" the man seemed somehow different. He was unsure, but that wasn't it, she's had shy clients before. He just seemed like he didn't really want to be there. He was most curious.

She got inside the car and shut the door. It didn't reek; it smelled like tea and flowers. She thought it was the scent of roses, but it was so long since she smelled one she wasn't sure. The man kept looking at his hands. She decided to help him a little.

"So, what's your name?"

"It's Arthur. What's yours?" he looked up at last.

She blinked in surprise. He wasn't just making small talk, or biding his time. He genuinely wanted to know, judging from his look. It was the first time someone asked because they _wanted to know_.

"Françoise."

"Well, Françoise… If you don't mind me asking… Why do you do this? I mean… How did this happen…? I'm so terribly sorry, it's really rude of me to ask such things, we've barely met…"

"No, it's fine" she smiled at him, shocking herself with how _genuine_ it felt. This man was definitely something else. "As they say, a girl's gotta eat. It sort of happened of it's own accord… Now that I think about it it seems kind of silly. It's kind of like I never really had a choice. I don't even remember making a conscious decision about it."

"I'm sorry. I'm sure you went through a lot, and I just come here and invite you to my car. How ungentlemanly of me…"

"It's okay, really. It _is_ how I make a living, Arthur. You don't have to worry about it."

"It's just that… I'm not even sure what I'm doing here. I think I just… wanted to talk to someone. God, that's pathetic, isn't it?"

"Not at all. I understand you very well, if it makes you feel any better."

Arthur actually looked relieved. And Françoise was glad he did. He gave her an apologetic look.

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid I might be wasting your time."

"You don't have to keep apologising. It actually is quite cold outside, and you did let me inside your car. It's a profitable situation for the both of us - I won't get cold, and you won't get lonely." He seemed to think about it for a second and then nodded. "Fair enough. You can stay inside as long as you like."

They talked for two more hours after that. Arthur talked about how he got married way too young, and how it inevitably fell apart, and how he didn't even know what he wanted anymore. Françoise talk about how she hoped to fall in love someday, and how she was scared she wouldn't know how to do it and that she'd stay this tired and empty forever. It was the first time in almost a decade she had a genuine conversation about how she felt. Neither of them felt happy in that moment, but both felt calm and content to get their sorrows off their chests.

"Arthur, it's been truly… unusual talking to you" another thing - she didn't feel the need to lie. She didn't say "lovely" or "amazing". She said exactly what she thought. "Thank you for that. I should, however, get back to… work."

"Certainly. I'm sorry to have kept you up." He blushed slightly.

"Non, don't be. I really do appreciate it. Merci." She opened the car door and put one foot on the concrete outside.

"François?"

"Oui?"

"Could I maybe… see you again sometime? When you're not busy or… something…"

"Pardon?" she must have heard him wrong. Right…?

"Sorry, I didn't want to presume, I just thought if you had a spare moment… Never mind, forget I asked."

That actually got a chuckle out of her. "Cher, you apologise too much. How about I give you my number? My _actual _number, that is. And then you could call me, let's say… on Sunday? People tend to pretend they are good christians on Sundays, which I find slightly ridiculous." And with that she scribbled her private number on a piece of napkin, not really sure what she was doing. The only thing she knew was that she wanted to see this man again. People have called her a lot of things before - they've called her beautiful, a whore, a princess - but he was the first one to call her by name. Not as an epithet, but as _her name_, referring to _her personality_ and all the things that made her who she was.

And it felt right. For the first time in forever, she felt _good_. And as Françoise got out of the car, she realised something with a smile. This was the man who didn't pay her. She didn't take any money from him. Feeling strange lightness in her chest she made her way down the street. Maybe her dream wasn't a pipe dream after all…?

**A/N:**

**Whoa, I've been on an uploading spree lately, haven't I? I guess I'm letting my brain take a break from all the medieval history I've beed cramming into it before I have to start doing it again.**

**Now, I think this is my first story which is not supposed to be a comedy, which was a bit of a challenge. It's another one based on a song, the first one being "Me gustas Tu". This one is called "Me llaman calle". Both are by Manu Chao, and this one is incredibly beautiful, please listen to it. I don't think I did it justice with this fic, but I tried my best. Also, I couldn't resist giving Françoise a bit of a happy ending, even though the song doesn't really have it.**

**Sorry if the title is a horrible use of french, I literally just put the spanish song title into google translator.**

**Please leave reviews, I really want to know what you all think about the less comedic things I write. Would you like to see more? Do you think it sucks? Let me know!**


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